


The Boy Who Existed Only in Tales

by FluffDuckling



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Pre-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-13
Updated: 2016-04-27
Packaged: 2018-05-13 17:06:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5710258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FluffDuckling/pseuds/FluffDuckling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Children across the United Kingdom grew up on stories of the Boy Who Lived; the brave young baby who defied fate and rid the world of the Dark Lord. Little boys wanted to be him and little girls wanted to be with him. But without even a hair to his existence since that fateful Halloween night, stories were all they had.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birthday Surprises

**Author's Note:**

> Characters to be added as chapters appear.
> 
> Draco and Harry parallels on their fifth birthdays.

On his fifth birthday, Draco awoke to a room full of silvery wrapped packages each with a dark green bow. Most were from his parents, some from his friends from his mother’s tea parties, and a few were from his Godfather, Uncle Severus.

The ones from his parents were practical gifts like clothes or shoes that he had been taught carefully to always give thanks for. The ones from his friends were toys they envied over in catalogs and Uncle Severus’s gifts were the most special off all because they were always something that Draco wanted for but never told anyone about, but somehow Uncle Severus always could figure out exactly what it was.

A large special breakfast was prepared by the elves as usual and Mother and Father would sit with him and praise how well he was growing and how smart he was and just how much they loved him. Noontime would bring a large cake and after that his friends would show up and Draco would get to play with them until sunset. An informal dinner would be held after their guests had left and Draco would hunker down in his bed that night with his newest doll and fall asleep knowing that his Mother and Father both loved him very much, excited for the next day.

~

On his fifth birthday, Harry awoke to a dark cupboard with spiders in the corners and dust falling into his eyes from someone walking down the stairs. It was only a matter of moments before Aunt Petunia would be rapping on the door, ordering him to get ready for the day. He would be learning how to fold the laundry today.

Harry’s job, when it was the summer and not during school, was to follow Aunt Petunia around and learn what she was doing so he could help her around the house. Sure enough, Aunt Petunia’s high pitched, shrill voice barked for him to get ready and be sat at the breakfast table in ten minutes if he wanted to eat. Harry knew better than to dilly dally.

At the table, Uncle Vernon tossed a pair of old grey socks with a hole in the toe of one. He grumbled a, “Happy Birthday,” at Harry and went about reading the newspaper. Harry politely said thank you and scoffed down his soggy eggs and burnt bacon before Aunt Petunia decided he was fussing about and took his plate. Dudley laughed at him.

Harry didn’t mind much that Dudley thought it was funny for Harry to get some of his Uncle’s old socks, but Harry knew he could wear them at night and his feet wouldn’t be as cold as they had been. Even though it was summer, the cupboard under the stairs was always freezing. Besides, Harry didn’t really want a new shiny red bike or big books to read when he was done with his chores or even a new backpack to put his school things in since his old one had a broken strap and made it hard to carry.


	2. Friend Making is Harder than it Sounds

Ron’s oldest brother, Bill, was ten whole years older than him. By the time Ron could walk and talk and scream at spiders, Bill was already at Hogwarts and Charlie would only be there for two more years before Ron had no one to protect him from Fred and George and the scary spiders they kept making appear out of nowhere. Percy was no help at all, always taking the twins’ side and telling Ron off like their Mum. All he ever wanted to do was read or suck up to Dad and Ginny was too small to play with and besides, she was a girl. And girls were icky; especially sisters.

So Ron played by himself a lot of the time; in the garden and in his room and in the kitchen when he was hiding from the twins by sticking close to his Mum. And it was with his Mum in the kitchen when she would let him lick the spoon of whatever concoction she was whipping up for dinner that she would tell him stories of whatever he could think of to ask for.

“Could you tell me about Harry Potter, Mummy?” Ron asked from the floor, where he was licking the spoon that had been used to whip the chocolate mousse and played with his teddy bear, newly rescued from the twins before Fred could turn it into another giant spider. “He’s gonna be in my year at Hogwarts right? Bill told me before he got on the train.”

“Yes, he sure is. The poor dear.”

“Why’s he poor? Percy said the Potter’s were super rich!”

“Well his mummy and daddy aren’t here anymore, Ronny. I’m sure he misses them very much, don’t you think?”

“Oh. I didn’t think about that. Poor Harry.”

“Yes, but he is living with his other family now. What did you want to know, Ronny?”

“Well, since he’s gonna be in my year, do you think he’d want to be my friend?”

“Of course! You’re such a nice boy, you’ll have many friends before you’re even off the Hogwarts Express.” Molly took the spoon from her youngest boy and tossed it in the sink that was spelled to wash whatever resided in it. She was almost done with supper and the rest of her children would be trooping down the stairs very shortly.

“He won’t be like Draco, will he? He’s so mean!”

“Well, I don’t know about all that, Ronald, but I’m sure Harry will be just as nice and polite as I hope you’ll be.” She eyed her son who flushed and nodded.

~

Washing the last spoon from supper, Harry hopped off his stool and pushed it to the corner where it was out of the way and went to wipe down the table one more time because Dudley always got sticky hand prints in the most unusual places and Aunt Petunia hated sticky messes. After kitchen duty, Harry had an hour before the sun went down and he could play in the back garden as long as he didn’t track in mud afterwards. Then it was bedtime and then school in the morning.

In the back garden, Harry talked to the little stone turtle in the flower bed and asked him about how to make friends at school even though Dudley was trying his hardest to make sure everyone was against Harry.

“It’s hard to make friends when Dudley hits them if they try, Mr. Turtle. I don’t blame ‘em though. If I could get away from Dudley, I’d do it too.” Harry was lying on his back in the grass and staring at the sky that was turning purple and orange. “It’s just I wish I could stand up to him maybe, some day.”

The stone turtle just sat there, pretending to eat a flower like always, listening but not saying.

“I don’t have to have friends. It’s not a rule or anything,” Harry confessed. “But sometimes it feels weird to talk to yourself, you know?” Harry looked at the turtle and then back up at the sky. He heaved a huge sigh. “Sometimes my tummy feels weird and my chest hurts and it gets hard to breath, but Aunt Petunia says its nothing.”

As the sky got darker and darker and crickets began chirping and little buzzy bugs started flying in his ears, Harry finally sat up and stared into the house he called home. He could hear the telly playing in the den and that meant Uncle Vernon and Dudley and Aunt Petunia were all still awake.

With one last glance at the stone turtle, Harry stood up and dusted himself off vigorously and headed inside to brush his teeth and go to bed.

Once in his cupboard under the stairs, dressed in pajamas under his threadbare blanket that pulled up over his toes, he sighed one last time and curled up on his side, away from the slots on the door that let in the light, and pressed his hands to his heart and fell asleep.


	3. It's My Party and I'll Mope if I want to

Two hours into his tenth birthday party, Neville Longbottom was tossed out the attic window of his grandmother’s four story house by his Great-Uncle Algie who was trying to prove to everyone else at the party that Neville truly was a wizard and not a poorly Squib.

Neville’s grandmother, Augusta, while fearful in her own right that her only grandchild was non-magical, screeched from the bottom of the attic steps that there was a slice of lemon meringue with Algie’s name on it.

Perking right up, Algie withdrew his hand from the window and scurried down the stairs, very noticeably without a very important shadow. Enid, Algie’s wife suddenly screamed as she saw little Neville fall past the third floor window at the end of the hall and she and Augusta rushed to it, frightened at what they would find.

In seconds, the two shaking ladies were able to see Neville bounce gently off the second story veranda and into a bush that bounced Neville to a safe stop on the ground. They kept in the window long enough to see Neville puff out a huge sigh and fall onto his back and out of the bush, before Augusta was rushing out the house and to her precious child, knocking past Algie who was asking after the lemon meringue, and into the back garden.

“Neville, oh Neville! Are you alright, child? Can you breathe?”

Neville was sat up, leaning on his palms and shaking a little, but seemed to be alright, considering. He was pale, but nodded at his grandmother. “I’m alright, Gran.”

“Oh, that man! I’d throttle him if I thought that would teach him.” She crouched down and wrapped Neville in her arms, smothering him in her thick, furry coat and dusty, feathered hat that she was adorned for the party. Neville could feel his nose twitch, but he held in his sneeze while his grandmother snuggled him with all her might.

“I told you the boy wasn’t a Squib. Didn’t I, Aggs? The Longbottoms are more resilient than you think, my dear!” Algie called from the third story window. Neville and Augusta could just see Enid whacking him on the back of the head and yanking him back in before he was the one bouncing off the veranda.

“Can we have cake now, Gran?” Neville asked, wanting to just be done with his party now. He didn’t like when his family talked about him, especially when it was about his magic.

“Of course, deary. Brush off and I’ll get you some tea to bring the color back to your face. You’re as white as a ghost. Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Neville did as he was told and stood up, though his legs felt as if a jelly legs jinx had been placed on them for hours and he just got it taken off. They tingled and wobbled as he walked back into the house.

Just inside, Neville could hear Great-Uncle Algie and Great-Aunt Enid talking about his display of magic and how excited they were that he was indeed a wizard and not a Squib. And oh, how his parents would be so ecstatic for him. Gran was hushing them and whacking Algie on the head with a wooden spoon, but she handed him his pie in the next moment. 

Sometimes, Neville wished he was a Squib. Then his family would stop talking about him and possibly leave him alone to live like a Muggle, whether they approved or not. And even if his parents would be proud of him or not, at least he would be happy with himself. He wouldn’t have to prove that he had his father’s way with Charms or his mother’s knack at Transfiguration, but he could be Neville the Muggle, good at gardening and anything not to do with magic at all.

But other times, Neville wished that he could know for sure if his parents were proud of him at all. They couldn’t even remember him and so who knew if they could ever be proud of him if he was a wizard or a Muggle. He would never be up to the same standards as, say, the Boy Who Lived, so what was the point in trying to prove himself? Neville just wanted to be happy with himself.

~

It was an hour before Uncle Vernon was due to be home from the airport and Harry was hurrying to weed the flower beds in the back garden like Aunt Petunia had told him to do before he was to come inside and help her with dinner. Aunt Marge was staying with them and Aunt Petunia wanted to have a lavish meal ready for them when they got back; something about airplane food being lackluster and Marge having a three hour layover. In other words, the Dursleys would be hungry and Harry had to make sure they were fed.

He didn’t mind much. Cooking was the easiest chore he ever got and it kept Dudley off his back because even he wasn’t stupid enough to bite the hand that fed him. At least not when Harry was making the food. Any other time and it was free reign.

By the hour’s end, Harry and Aunt Petunia had a large beef roast and sautéed vegetables and a great bit pudding for afters to show for it. And Harry was shoved back out the door to the back garden because the lavish dinner they had just prepared was for grownups only, and never you mind why Dudley gets to stay, now out you go.

In the back garden, Aunt Marge’s dog, Ripper was making his rounds, peeing on every plant and lawn accessory he could sniff out. Having had run ins with Ripper in the past, Harry took the time that the dogs was distracted with marking his territory as a chance to climb the sole tree in the garden to keep out of the way and lessen his chances of betting his ankles bit. And not a second after Ripper was barking up the tree at Harry who was sitting at the first sturdy branch about half way up.

Having been barked at many a time before, Harry just hunkered down to wait until Aunt Petunia would call him in so that he could eat and go to bed. If he was lucky, he could avoid Aunt Marge during that time and he wouldn’t have to listen to her make comments on how he looked or why Uncle Vernon didn’t just drop him off at the orphanage.

It was taking a while for Aunt Petunia to come out. Ripper had stopped barking by now, however long it had been. The sun was already set and it was getting darker by the minute. The street lamps were already on and Harry could just make out Ripper’s outline at the bottom of the tree where he was keeping guard incase Harry decided he wanted to try for the door.

He was squinting in the dark, leaning down a little to make sure Ripper was still here he had been last, when Harry’s glasses suddenly slipped down his nose. Making a grab for them so they wouldn’t fall and become unsalvageable should Ripper get a hold of them, Harry swayed forward and before he knew it, he was falling out of the tree and headed right towards Ripper.

By some miracle, he missed Ripper, but he did scare the mean old dog by landing next to him very suddenly when he had been sleeping. Ripper let out a loud yipe, but Harry wasn’t very concerned about that. His arm hurt. Like, really, really hurt. It stung and throbbed and Harry was suddenly sick to his stomach.

Aunt Petunia and Aunt Marge both rushed outside, Aunt Marge calling for Ripper, threatening Harry that if her dog was hurt that he’d pay for it, but Harry was too busy curling around his arm to mind much. He could feel Ripper snuffling around his head and he tried to tuck that in to his chest as well.

“Get up, boy!” Aunt Petunia snapped. “I won’t have you dragging in dirt. It’s your curfew anyways!”

“I think I hurt my arm, Aunt Petunia,” Harry managed to say through his panting. He felt if he sat up that he would throw up. “I fell out of the tree.”

“Well, serves you right. I’ve told you to stay out of that blasted tree! Now up! Get your teeth brushed and to bed with you! I won’t have you ruin the rest of the night. In, in!” Aunt Petunia ushered Harry in the house, swatting his backside with a wayward newspaper as they passed the kitchen. Harry was stumbling and his arm throbbed and he feared it may be broken. He’d never had a broken bone before.

“And don’t think you can worm your way out of chores tomorrow, boy. You shouldn’t have been up that tree in the first place!” Aunt Marge was still outside and tending to Ripper, who was soaking up the attention. Aunt Petunia hurried Harry up the stairs to brush his teeth and then back down them and then locked the cupboard before he could protest anymore about throwing up or possibly broken bones. 

The next morning, after Aunt Petunia unlocked his cupboard door and barked at him to help with breakfast, Harry would stand up and promptly throw up in the hall. His arm hurt worse than it ever did and Aunt Petunia would force him to clean up his mess before reluctantly driving him into town to have his arm set, listing off extra chores he would be doing to pay her back for the inconvenience.

The only thing Harry would be able to think about the next day as the nurse wrapped his arm in a cast was that this was the worst birthday ever.


End file.
